The Time of Chaos
by Doctor Twelve
Summary: Rule number one. The Doctor always lies.
1. The Prologue

There was once a man…a crazy, brilliant man with shaggy hair and small eyes.

If you caught him in the right light his eyebrows disappeared or his eyes widened, adding depth to his foreign features. He wore a jacket of tweed with awkward elbow patches, a light-colored button down, slacks, boots; more importantly he sported a bow tie because 'bow ties were cool'. Some would call him fashionable while others would call him naïve disillusioned and just a bit off, those who knew the man were also knew that he was none of those things.

His name was the Doctor, just the Doctor, and he knew exactly what he was doing.

When it came to rules, he had only a few: Do exactly as I say, I'm not a professor, don't wander off, Time is not the boss of you. But the most important rule that he never spoke of out of practice was the one rule he held up as often as possible, the one impossible rule that could never be broken unless the universe absolutely had to break it – and it had, time and again. The Limitation Effect has been said to be the only standing effect in the universe and it told of meeting oneself, causing time to sort out the time differential between the two iterations of the person and causing a complete alternate timeline for the being. This was the one effect the Doctor would not cause if the universe didn't make it so, the one unbreakable rule.

The Doctor never crosses his own timeline.

Rule number one.

The Doctor always lies.

No one knew of the effects that were to pass in the universe when two of the Doctors collided, no one knew of the past visits the Doctor had made to himself merely because it was his time to do so. More importantly; no one knew that when the Doctor regenerated he left an empty shell of his earlier face on earth, leaving it to the universe to give the shell a life, a name and a place in existence once the Doctor continued on. Once the body was in its dying stages the shell would be left without any prior memories of the Doctor, the TARDIS, and the companions but would have a mind filled with false memories of a life that had yet to have been had. A completely different person that no one questions, no one suspects and everyone in their lives seems to remember as if they'd been at the hospital during their birth.

Shells are always created for Time Lords, springing up on humanoid planets seeming spun to perfection to fit into the race there. One heart, proper amount of stomachs and kidneys, maybe a scratch or two from the imaginary coma the universe seems to set them in before their awakening. But what happens when a shell remembers? I'd asked the Doctor once, the Doctor only grew angry with the question and told me to fetch a few blankets because the temperature was about to drop inside of the TARDIS. So I left the question open if he'd wanted to answer it later, when he was ready.

This isn't the story of the Doctor answering my question or sending me off to answer it for myself. It isn't the story of the man and his companion that take on an army of shells. It also isn't a story that ends well, a story that's filled with happiness and laughter – no.

This is the story of the man who sacrificed every moral he had to keep the universe safe from itself and the lengths he'd go to just to be sure of it. This is the story of the last time lord in a constant race against the ticking hands of time; for he knows that his own time might come all too soon. The story that you're reading is the story about the day a shell remembered the Doctor and he broke the one rule he'd avoided breaking at all costs – he crossed his own timeline, knowingly, to keep the universe safe from itself.


	2. DAY ONE

DAY ONE

Consciousness seemed like a struggle at first. Blankets lay wrapped around his throat as he slipped back into the world, almost as if they were trying to choke him back into his slumber. A peaceful sleep destroyed by static sounds, conversation and something hot against the outside of his eyes. The sunlight bounced off of the hospital walls as if they were freshly cleaned mirrors that aimed directly to his face; he squinted his eyes shut to escape the bright hot light beyond his eyelids. It was as if his unconsciousness had been a thick set of bandages wrapped around his mind and someone was slowly peeling them back to reveal him to the world. That's when he heard voices for the first time, faint and slowly growing louder, his ears registering the voices as they tried to make contact with him.

"I think he's awake!" The voice was cheerful and light, female, all too familiar.

He clenched his eyes at the sound as if to prepare himself for the light beyond his tired retinas, turning his head toward the sound to nod – replying to her voice.

"He's awake!" Everything was dark but he could make out a few footsteps arriving closer to the bed. "John?"

The woman's voice registered in his mind for the first time and he forced his eyes open to the white, hot light of the hospital room. Instantly they clenched shut again. "Dear, you've been in a coma for almost two weeks. Take it easy."

His wife. The voice belonged to his wife, Riley, and they'd been married for the better part of four years. They met while he was performing in a theater adaption of 'Casanova'; she was the section leader for Flute and he was drawn to her almost as instantly as he caught sight of her ginger hair. Two years after that they were married on the shores of Loch Ness in his homeland of Scotland. The How did he forget?

"Riley."

"Yes, I'm here." She took his closest hand as her voice cracked, squeezing it warmly. "Oh, John. I'm…I'm so glad you're awake. The Doctor said-"

The phrase caught his attention, shooting him straight up into a sitting position. Riley stopped in shock as they looked at one another for a moment, exchanging glances around the flooding white. A moment later Riley found herself giggling at her husband, leaning up to brush the tuft of his brown bangs that seemed to be sticking up in defiance of gravity.

"Two minutes out of a coma and you're already taking on a new character."

It wasn't the comment about his hair that left him quiet – but the comment about 'The Doctor' had settled a knot in his stomach for some reason. In an instant his face was screwed in confusion. "Am I afraid of doctors?"

Riley squinted at her husband in confusion, her red bangs unable to hide the look as they sat in silence for a moment. "I'm confused. Is this your character development or are you serious?"

"Maybe it's –" That's when John registered the older man and woman beside his wife, his parents as his memories told him. The man had held him up the first time he tried to ride a bicycle, the woman made the best Bannocks and Scottish Beef he'd ever had. His hand pressed to his forehead then, rubbing at one of his eyes quickly. "Sorry, seems I'm not myself today. At least you lot didn't have to wait too long for me."

"Nonsense." Chimed his mother, who stepped closer to his bedside and rested her hand at his side. "We'd have waited as long as it took for you to feel well again or longer."

Riley nodded in agreement and gave John's hand another squeeze. "And we'll do whatever it takes for you. But as I was saying, The Doctor said you could-"

"What's The Doctor's name?" John asked, the words catching him in sudden surprise the moment that they'd left his lips. "Sorry, I-"

As if it was timed a Doctor walked up to the bedside with a defined jaw, sad eyes and his hair flipped to the side. The clipboard in his hands was being used as a device to drum his fingers against as he grabbed the attention of everyone in the area – waving his fingers once their eyes were on him. The man's attention turned to John.

"Hello, I'm Doctor Smith. Odd that we share a last name!" He was hyper, very facially expressive when he spoke. His accent was off. "Matt Smith, actually. But I'm here to tell you that you're free to leave whenever you'd like. You've been here for a few weeks now and it's time you left off to spend time with your family and whatnot."

Everyone shared a mutual look of confusion once The Doctor had finished speaking, turning to look at one another in hopes of finding some sort of answer to their questions. Nothing. John looked at the strange, funny Doctor with an arched brow while he scratched at his stubbled jaw line.

"All right, I suppose. Best not to ask questions or you might-"

"Detain you? No. Detaining is much too…medieval. You're absolutely free to leave."

The Doctor stood there with a pleasant smile on his face, glancing between the four bodies as if he was waiting for them to leave. His fingers continued to tap against the clipboard again as his expression turned vacant, realizing he'd missed something.

"Oh, that's right," Quickly he spun around and snuck behind the room's curtain to grab something, revealing a plastic tray with John's leather jacket, scarf, shirt and pants. "Take your time to get dressed and everything, but after that you should head home. Don't want to miss anything."

With that he was gone as quickly as he had come, leaving a lump in John's dry throat. The lump stayed as he dressed himself and the family left the building, remaining after a cup of coffee and even after a shower. Finally he let his shaggy hair fall back against his pillow and slept.


End file.
